


Hopeless

by queenhomeslice



Series: Hopeless [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Crush, Banter, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, fat reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Yeah, Prompto’s NEVER gonna find out about your massive crush on him.Nope.Never.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader
Series: Hopeless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607842
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final  
> Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own  
> the rights to FF in any way.

Prompto yawns, stretching his pale, toned arms up long and straight, throwing his head back and sighing in the separation of vertebrae and the blood flow stimulation. You see him shift out of the corner of your eye, and when you’re sure his eyes are shut with the momentary meditation on his muscles, you chance a full head turn and give him a once-over. 

His shirt has ridden up, revealing a creamy sliver of skin just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the delicious jut and curve of hipbone, the faint rippled ridges of fading stretch marks. 

It’s too much, and you lick your lips and turn back to the movie before he can catch you staring. 

“Caught ya staring,” says Prompto. 

Well, so much for _that_. 

You fumble to save face. “Was not.” The heat on your cheeks is betraying you. Please dear Ifrit, drag me to hell now, if you’d be so kind. 

“Hmmmmm, okay,” says Prompto, shrugging, sounding like he half-believes you. 

“I said what I said,” you lie in a huff, gritting your teeth. 

On the tv screen, some men in suits and sunglasses are fighting aliens. You’ve seen this one before. There’s a talking dog, a plot to destroy the planet, memory wipes, a lost daughter...

“Do you...like what you see?” mumbles Prompto. 

The movie fades to the background as Prompto’s quiet question registers in your sleep-deprived brain. You don’t make eye contact. “Prom, don’t.”

“Don’t what,” the lanky blond grunts. “What, like I’m supposed to keep pretending that you don’t look at me like that?”

Okay, _what_ is even happening. You turn to face him. His hands are resting on his head, arms bowed out, red undershirt still kinda riding up on his stomach. You force yourself to just look at the galaxy of freckles on his face instead of his slightly exposed hips. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to keep dancing around me forever?”

“Dance around...what? Prom, I...”

“It’s hopeless,” Prompto mutters sadly. “I thought that at least my best friend would be able to talk to me about it...”

“Hey, what’s with that all of a sudden! I am your best friend, aren’t I?”

“I dunno, are you?”

You stare at him, silent, trying to figure out what’s going on in that weird boy brain of his. “I mean, if you don’t want me to be that anymore, I mean I guess I’ll just go home.” Yeah, like that would be easy—home is next door, and then you’d have to live your life in misery, living so close to the love of your life, not even able to be friends anymore. 

You stand. “I dunno what I did to piss you off, but. It’s whatever. Text me later I guess. Or don’t.” You turn, intending to go to the door and slip into your shoes, when suddenly a warm hand is around your wrist. 

You turn back, stunned. Prompto is flushed and wide-eyed in horror. 

“I didn’t mean—what I was trying to say was—” He pauses, bites his lip in the cute way he always does, and sighs dramatically, putting his whole body into it. “Don’t go, please.”

You eye him warily as you sink back into the worn-out couch cushions. “Okay. We cool? Do we need to like, talk? Cause we can talk, Prom.”

“Then talk to me.”

“What?”

“I’m not the one who needs to talk. You are.” Prompto shifts and turns sideways on the couch, no long forward-facing to the television. He moves—pauses—then in one dramatic swish, throws his shirt up off over his head and to the floor. 

You know there’s no hiding the blush now as you shamelessly ogle his body. He’s all lean, taut muscle from running, pale skin and freckles and soft-looking pecs and cute nipples and— _gods_ , brain, they can hear you in Niflheim, shut _UP_. 

“Why are you shirtless?” you manage to say numbly, throat dry and stomach twisting in knots. What are normal heart rates, again? Goodbye breath, I hardly knew ye. 

“Experimenting,” says Prompto, with a devilish twinkle in his eye. 

“We haven’t talked about the scientific method since seventh grade,” you deadpan. “But I’m pretty sure you’re missing a few steps.”

“Form a hypothesis?” Prompto retorts. He shrugs. “Mmmkay, I’ll bite. You like me.”

A sly grin spreads across Prompto’s face. You realize that he must be staring at your dilated pupils or something. Treacherous orbs, how dare you! 

“Uh,” is all you can say. “We’re friends so like. Yes?”

Prompto laughs lightly, clearly enjoying his game. “Nah dude. Cut the shit.”

“Why are you so confusing?! First you’re mad at me, now you’re shirtless, trying to goad me into some hairbrained confession...” Open mouth, insert foot. 

“Is it working?” says Prompto, rocking back and forth like a child. 

“I’m still confused.”

“God. Your deflection shields are operating at one hundred percent.”

“Prompto.” You roll your eyes. “I’m about to _not_ like you if you don’t learn to communicate.” 

“Fine. You want to play hardball. Typical girl,” he mutters in mock annoyance, but he’s still smirking. “If I asked you out, would you say yes?” 

Did you ever tell your parents you wanted to be cremated? Gods, tragically dead at only seventeen, how fucking pathetic. How many people would come to your funeral? You never even got the chance to ride a chocobo. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember to breathe. “That’s goddamn hilarious, because you’d never ask me that.” 

“Oh. My god. How are you like, the dumbest smart person that I know?”

“Another notch in the insecurity belt, thanks a million.”

“I literally just did.”

“Did what.”

“Ask you out.”

“Out where?”

“Fucking hell,” Prompto curses as he laughs. “I mean are you seriously just messing with me now or what?”

“You couldn’t have just asked me out, like, _out_ out, because guys who look like you”—you gesture to his shirtless torso— “don’t date girls like me.”

“Sure they do.”

“Not at our high school they don’t.”

“We could be the first.”

“Are you bullshitting me right now?”

“Not currently, no.” Prompto winks. “I know I’m a grade-A bullshitter and all—“

“Uh more like grade-C bullshitter, I’ve seen your report cards.”

“Okay now you’re deflecting again, gods, fuck, it’s like, you’re trying to turn me on, on purpose. Are you?”

“Wait what?”

“Yeah,” gestures Prompto, suddenly shy, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, when you get all sassy and we banter like this and you roast me or crack a joke, it’s like... _fuck_ , you’re fucking _hot_ , okay, and I’ve been in love with you for literally years, and you don’t even know it because you’re so deep in your own head. You think you’re subtle about stuff but dude. I analyze everything you do. You’re not subtle. And the way you’re looking at me right now is exhilarating.”

You struggle for an inhale as you attempt to compute Prompto’s words—sorry, error 404, blue screen of death, have you tried turning it off and back on again? 

“You think I’m hot?”

“You’re irresistible. I would like. Punch a bear for you. If you wanted. Or I dunno. Do your homework for the rest of our school career.”

“I mean I was gonna try to get into a good college, but if you insist on living in a cardboard box together, it could be romantic, I guess, if you just didn’t think about it too hard.”

Prompto laughs. “Okay, so. Will you go out with me or are you just gonna continue teasing me to death?”

“I wasn’t aware I was teasing you.”

“Oh honey,” says Prompto, suddenly tender. “I see you in a skirt every day. What do you think that does to my three brain cells?”

“The school uniform really does it for you, huh?”

“You do it for me. You could wear like. A potato sack. And I would still love you.”

You swallow thickly. Is this real life right now? “I have loved you since fifth grade, you absolute goblin,” you laugh, holding your hand over your heart.

“Yeah? Little ol’ waddly glasses boy?”

“Yep. Who took the time to get to know little ol’ waddly glasses girl. Except you grew up into perfection and I...I still waddle.”

“It’s a cute waddle,” Prompto coos. “I would know. Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.”

“Oh, my god. Do you say that to all the fat girls or just me?”

“No one else, duh. Just you. As the saying goes, thick thighs save lives and baby, you save me every minute I’m around you.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point. This has got to be the weirdest—and yet somehow, the most perfect—crush confession you could ever imagine. 

“Well, then yeah, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Prompto echoes, wagging his eyebrows in the stupidest and most attractive way possible. 

“Yeah, I’ll go out with you.”

“Cool. Experiment success. Submitted to the academic journal database as scientific fact.”

You shamelessly lick your lips again as your eyes flick back down to his bare upper half. “So you needed your shirt off for this?”

“For science,” Prompto says as he lazily flexes a bicep. 

Drooling is cool, right? 

“You’re hopeless,” you say, but the jab falls flat in light of your blatant staring. God _damn_ , the boy has arms. 

“Hopelessly in love,” Prompto says, jokes aside. “With you. All of you. Even though you can’t take a hint for shit.”

“Been hanging around you too long,” you say as you scoot closer to him on the couch. You’re inches away from his stupid beautiful face. Would he mind if you stayed here for about a week and counted his freckles? That’s a totally normal thing to do, yeah? 

“Oh _please_ ,” he breathes, and fuck, you can feel the hot exhale. “Hang around me until the mountains crumble into the sea. Until the sky falls. Until—“

You surge forward and press your lips to his—soft, pink, slightly parted, perfection. Hello 911, I can’t breathe, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare inhaler, perchance? 

Prompto moves his mouth against yours—teeth clash, noses bump, and suddenly some kind of instinct must kick in because you pull away slightly, and Prompto’s hooded gaze is piercing blue violet as he tilts his head and the bell rings for round two, and it’s better, and suddenly rhythms aren’t only for music anymore. 

The alien movie ends and the planet is saved and the men in suits have saved the day, despite all seemingly hopeless odds. And Prompto—well. Prompto’s content to make you fall even more hopelessly in love with him, right there on the couch, as he kisses you breathless. 

**Author's Note:**

> Men in Black II made me kind of emotional, idk why


End file.
